A Trio of Virtues: Contrary Virtues
by Catlover
Summary: Third Part in the Trilogy. The life our heroes share is never dull. Slash
1. Humility

A Trio of Virtues

**Part III**

_Contrary Virtues_

_All the virtues and he in whom they dwell are safe. _

_- **Psychomachia** (Battle for Man's soul) by Prudentius _

-{()}-

Humility

Carefully, Clark made his way down the main staircase. From his vantage point mid way down, he could clearly see the main foyer and the trail of pink rose petals leading into the library. Pink roses in white marble vases. Pink satin bows tickling at his fingers as his hand landed the on the polished turnout. Stopping at the base of the stairs, he leaned against the bottom newel as Dick passed by, narrowly avoiding the large sheet cake he was carrying.

Pink. A girl's color. He remembered how it was during their wedding reception that he and Bruce announced that they were expecting. After the initial shock and silence, a pair of screams filled the space completely. His mother jumped out of her seat and yelled, "Lacy dresses. I finally get to buy frilly, lacy dresses."

Across the table from her, Barbara stood up and chimed in, "Don't forget sparkling hair bows and satin ribbons."

"Oh Barbara, I've waited nearly forty years to dress a little girl."

"We mustn't wait another minute."

"You're quite right, my dear. Jonathan, I'll be back later. Don't wait up."

"Martha, I know this absolutely adorable store where they have the most precious outfits. You'll just love it. Oh Dick, you don't mind if I take Martha to Bambino's, do you? Of course not. I'll see you later."

"Delicate, cotton baby bonnets."

"Lace-lined socks."

"Teeny-tiny Mary Janes."

Little by little, their voices faded as they ventured down the hallway until a loud shriek erupted, "Pink! Lots and lots of pink!"

Stepping into the library, he saw that the sofa he had insisted on had been placed against the far wall, made the focal point of the room with chairs surrounding it in a loose circle. A small table near the sofa was already heavily laden with pastel colored presents. A much longer table near the library doors was covered in silver serving platters. As he inched further into the room, he watched Dick place the cake at the center of the table. Walking up to the table, he read the message on the cake:

"Welcome Martha Elle Wayne-Kent."

A slow smile spread over his face as he recalled how she got her name.

Shortly after their announcement, he had taken to calling the baby peanut and his Mother was partial to girlie-girl. Barbara would coo princess at his belly every time she saw him. Alfred frequently referred to the baby as the young miss. By the time they reached thirty weeks, the baby had been called just about everything, everything except a proper name.

Crazily enough, it was Kelex who brought up the subject by asking them one day, "Kal-El cheh? Ta pahnim threvzeht?"

Frowning, Bruce observed, "That's a new one. Threv means name. Zeht means daytime. What does threvzeht mean?"

"Threvzeht? Oh nothing important, really." Glaring down at the small robot, Clark reached for his clothes as he stepped from the bio-pod. Pulling on his shirt, he waved his hand and sighed, "Ewuhsh."

A glance to his left told Clark that Bruce was not so easily dismissed as the little machine. Pulling up his sweatpants, he explained. "It means naming day. It's the Kryptonian equivalent of a christening. The day a new child is formally named and made a member of their noble house."

"Interesting. What does it entail?"

"Well, on Krypton, the heart of Kryptonian society was the Sun Temple. The whole community would have attended a ceremony at the temple where a respected elder would name the child. The name would then be added to the book of the noble house."

"The baby isn't due for another 3 weeks. Why is Kelex asking about this now?"

"That's usually when it happens. Kryptonians officially named their children before they were born."

"Do you want to do it?"

"It's not really possible to do the threvzeht now. The Sun Temple was obliterated along with everything else on my planet. Also, the parents aren't supposed to perform the naming and as far as I know I'm the only Kryptonian around."

"Still, the child could be named and that name added to the House of El," mused Bruce as he rubbed his chin. Turning his back to Clark, he called out, "Kelex, Zhgam."

The small machine came forward and replied, "Zhi, Bruz-Wehn cheh."

"Ta nahn tiv i fardhogh w zrhythrev El?"

"Nahn tiv zhgam khahp fis."

"Well, that is interesting. The Book of the House of El is stored in Kelex's hard drive. We could tell him the name and he could enter it in the book. It's not strictly keeping to tradition but it's the best we could do under the circumstances."

Slowly, Clark arched one brow and tried his best to imitate Bruce's most intimidating glare. As a response, Bruce shrugged his shoulders and performed a rolling stretch of his neck while never breaking eye contact.

"Okay, let's start with the first name," sighed Clark with a roll of his eyes. Stalling, he marveled at how easily Bruce dismissed Kelex. Sighing loudly, he mused, 'Leave it to Bruce to learn the Kryptonian language so quickly.' Slipping on his loafers, he walked over to Bruce and asked, "Have any ideas?

"In my mind, there is only one choice for the first name," answered Bruce as he reached out and rubbed the ever-expanding belly jutting out at him. At Clark's questioning gaze, he continued, "The name we share - Martha."

"Agreed." Placing his hand over Bruce's, he waited until Bruce looked him in the eye. "So, what about the last name. How does Kent-Wayne sound?"

"I think Wayne-Kent sounds better."

"Come on 'Kent-Wayne' has a nice ring to it."

"Just listen to it - Wayne-Kent."

"Kent-Wayne."

"Wayne-Kent.

"Kent-Wayne."

"Okay, look. Let's move on for now because clearly we've hit a stalemate where last names are concerned."

Quickly, Bruce noticed how disappointed Clark looked and asked, "What's wrong, Clark?"

"I don't know. It's just... No... It's nothing."

"Spit it out, Clark."

"This child is half Human. She will grow up on Earth, attend American schools, but she is Kryptonian, too. It would be nice if her name could reflect some of that heritage. Her Kryptonian name would be Martha Kal-El. Having both a Kryptonian name and an Earth name has always left me feeling like I have a split personality. Almost like there are two of me. I guess, on some level, that's true, but I want things to be easier for her. I don't want her to feel so torn over who she is."

"How about Martha Elle? Elle is a common girl's name. No one else needs to know what it really means but us."

"You'd be okay with that?"

"Of course."

"Well, if you'll put my house name first then I guess that I can do Wayne-Kent."

A pat on his shoulder brought him back to the present. Looking to his left, he found his husband. It was a wondrous thing to ever see Bruce Wayne smile out in the open, but this particular smile was inspired. There wasn't a trace of anything but happiness in it, trailing from his stretched lips to the icy blue depths of his eyes. Beguiled, he let Bruce take him by the hand and direct him away from the table. Soon thereafter, they arrived at the sofa.

Suddenly, Bruce became quite insistent. He wanted Clark to sit down. Now. As Clark tried to dodge confinement, Bruce squared his shoulders and pulled the one card he knew would always work in a pinch. "Clark, think of the baby. You have to sit. The strain is too much for you. After all, you're set to pop any day now."

"Set to pop? Really? You've got an I.Q. of 192 and that was the best you could come up with?"

"Help me out here. I've barely slept with all the trouble Poison Ivy and Harley have been giving me lately. Not to mention all the background checks I had to do on the new JL recruits."

"But..."

"Seriously, Clark. I'd sit down right now or you're going to be sorry."

"Is that a threat?"

At the shoulder shrug, Clark's eyes opened wide. Filled with wounded pride, his mouth fell open and he prepared to release a full verbal assault just as an annoyed voice rang out.

"Clark Joseph Kent. What are you doing up? You're supposed to be reclining at all times."

Hands on her hips, the owner of the voice made her way across the room. Coming to stand next to her son, she bent down and fluffed a pillow as she continued, "Glory all, son. Use the good sense I spent so many hours instilling in you. You don't want to do anything to that darling grandbaby of mine, do you?"

Quickly, he shook his head.

"Well, of course not. Now, sit," commanded Martha as she placed the pillow on the sofa. His shoulders slumped. His will completely bent, Clark glanced at that damned cocky smile on Bruce's face as he carefully sat down onto the couch. Martha adjusted the pillow and looked around the room. Finding what she was looking for, she slapped Bruce on the arm, making him jump at the contact, "Don't just stand there. Bring that footstool over here so he can put his feet up."

Nodding quickly, Bruce retrieved the item and placed it at Clark's feet. Bruce watched in wide wonder as Martha lifted Clark's legs and placed them, one at a time, on the ottoman. Smoothing out his pants, Martha barked again, "He needs a blanket."

"Here you are, Madam," said Alfred, appearing out of nowhere, carrying a blue plaid throw blanket.

"Thank you, Alfred. I swear. Sometimes, I think you're psychic."

"I get that reaction a lot, Madam. Is there anything else you might need?"

Turning to Clark, she unfolded the blanket. As she spread it over her son's legs, she asked, "Are you hungry, dear?"

"No, ma'am."

"You sure?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"We're fine here, Alfred. Thank you."

"No thanks required, Madam. It was my pleasure."

With a small bow and a flash of sympathetic eyes at Clark, Alfred slipped away into the background. He was quickly replaced by Bruce who stood there with hunched shoulders and a sour expression that screamed his pity for Clark but at the same time admitted it was better him than me.

"Well, I'll just see to the final arrangements. If you need anything, just let Bruce know. That's what he's here for." Turning on her heel, she met Bruce's eyes. Standing on her tip-toes, she wagged her index finger under his nose and ordered, "You don't let him up from that spot, you hear me? He's not to lift a single finger."

With a mock salute, Bruce nodded in assent. Waiting until she crossed the room, he finally let out the breath he was holding and sat down next to Clark. Gently, he slid his fingers across the blanket until they found and wrapped around a warm hand. With a squeeze, he drew bright blue eyes his way as he sighed, "With this baby, I think we've created a monster."

"Oh come on. She's not that bad."

"Actually, I think she really is."

"Okay. Maybe, she is going a little overboard."

Returning Clark's smile, Bruce leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on soft lips. Pulling away, he squeezed that warm hand tighter as he heard, "This is really happening, isn't it?"

"You're scheduled to give birth in two days. So, yeah, I'd say it is."

"It's unreal."

"You can say that again."

Together, they calmly sat in silence. Content in each other's company, they watched Alfred, Martha, Dick, Jonathan and Barbara rush about the room. At the sound of the door chimes, Alfred made a quick exit. Palming her cheek, Barbara sat down on the nearest chair while Martha, Dick and Jonathan continued to place the final touches.

The first guests to arrive, John and Shayera walked into the room. Bruce was up and across the room in an instant. Shayera let John make a production of the small baby bump she sported. In between words of felicitation, they exchanged hugs and slaps on the back. Martha and Jonathan approached and reintroduced themselves. Just as Dick ushered them to their seats, the chimes rang again.

For the next thirty minutes, guests arrived at a steady click. In the end, all the chairs were filled by Diana and Wally who arrived together, holding hands and raising more than one eyebrow. John Jones arrived at the same time as Lucius Fox and the two struck up a casual conversation as they took their seats.

Two hours later, the room filled with laughter. As pink outfit after pink outfit were lifted up for all to see, the group oohed and ahhed. Martha blushed when Diana asked if any baby girl clothes were left in the city of Gotham. Laughter roared through the room after Barbara answered that she was pretty sure she and Martha left a few pairs of socks behind. Maybe.

There was cake and hors d'oeuvres. There was conversation and well-wishing. At one point, Alfred took everyone on a tour of the baby's room. A moment of awe passed as everyone took in the antique furniture. The crib was hand-carved mahogany with a matching dresser and rocking chair. While running his hand over the delicate scrollwork on the back of the crib, Jonathan recounted a story of how one night shortly after they found Clark, they were awakened by the baby crying and the sound of wood breaking. He held his hands up, forming a circle with about a six inch diameter, as he described the hole Clark kicked through the back of the crib.

Quickly, Alfred and Bruce exchanged concerned looks. As everyone left the room, Alfred approached Bruce and assured, "I'll have the Wayne family crib reinforced first thing tomorrow morning."

The night ended with a toast. Everyone but Clark and Shayera received a full champagne flute filled with some of the best bubbly the Wayne wine cellar had to offer. After a round of "To Martha," they tipped back their glasses.

After that, people started to leave. Flutes were left on the buffet table, on the coffee table and one was even left on the mantle. With a frown, Alfred picked up one glass off the floor, beside the end table. It was full, not a single drop missing. With a shake of his head, he lifted the glass and sipped it slowly. He wasn't letting champagne this good go to waste.

As predicted by Kryptonian technology, Martha Elle Wayne-Kent entered the world on June 11th, one year and four days after her parents became bondmates. That morning, Bruce flew them to the Fortress in the Batwing. Once they arrived, the service robots did what they do. They shuffled Clark off to the bio-pod, sealing him inside before they went to their respective computer stations and started pushing buttons.

Like usual, Bruce was mostly ignored. Except for the occasional "Zhi, Bruz Wehn cheh" and "Zha, Bruz Wehn cheh," the robots acted as if he didn't even exist. Finding a place to sit, Bruce waited industriously by working on WayneTech operating systems, performing background checks on new JL recruits and running an off-site check of the bat-cave security systems. Just as Bruce was running out of busy work, the bio-pod opened.

Placing his pad down, Bruce watched spellbound as a writhing, screaming child was pulled from the pod. Efficiently, the service robots wrapped the infant in a swath of blue Kryptonian cloth bearing the seal of the House of El. Carefully, the precious bundle was passed from one service robot to another until it arrived at a small containment pod. The child was placed in the pod and then the round, silver sphere closed seamlessly.

At the moment his child was locked away, a large slab rose from the floor as Clark was lifted from the bio-pod. Unconscious, he was placed on the slab and left alone. Upon completing this final act, the service robots started to leave the room one by one.

Instantly, Bruce felt torn.

Snapping out of his reverie, Bruce jumped up and called out, "Kelex, Zgham!"

Floating over to him, the small robot bent its head and replied, "Zhi, Bruz Wehn cheh."

"Kaochadodh inah kah kir," ordered Bruce.

The service robot did not move. It merely responded to Bruce's request for his child with a cold, "Nahn Zhehiodia zhed."

Sucking in a deep breath, Bruce repeated his command with urgency, "Kaochadodh w inah kah khaph ven."

"Ta-Gulogh?"

At the simply asked "why", he finally lost all patience with this ridiculous, bobble-headed, tin can. Leaning down, he glared menacingly into the round crystal face and growled, "Open this thing up now so I can get to my daughter or I'll reengineer you into a toaster."

Normally, Kelex did not respond to any language other than Kryptonian. However, this time, something in the Human's voice must have activated its self-preservation programming because it paused only for a second before tapping out a sequence on the side of the sphere. As the sphere opened, a red light blinked from Kelex's crystal face. Suddenly, the light ceased and Kelex bowed his head severely, making a quick exit.

Which was fine.

By this point, Bruce didn't notice the little robot anymore, anyway. No, he had eyes for only one thing - The squirming bundle laid out before him. Dipping his hands into the sphere, he carefully brought the child out. Slowly, he retreated, gazing down upon his child the entire way back to his seat. Sitting stiffly, he reached up and pushed the cloth away from the top of her head.

Immediately, he smiled at the sight of Clark's blue-black curls framing the cherubic face. She possessed a small heart-shaped mouth that he didn't recognize, but she also sported long eyelashes that rested on her cheeks and reminded him of his mother. Looking down at her, he marveled at how much she looked like Clark until she opened sleepy eyes. Stunned, he stared back into twin pools of icy-blue so like his own.

Pulling her up so that he cradled her against his chest, he shook his head. Slowly, the shaking subsided as he lowered the child again. Overcome, he sighed, "He was right. He was right. I would do it. I would take a thousand bullets for you."

At that moment, a moan sounded from the slab to his right. Standing up, he crossed over to the man who was quickly regaining consciousness. Sitting beside him on the cold metal surface, Bruce balanced their daughter in one arm while he combed his fingers through his husband's hair.

Once Clark opened his eyes, all he could see was the bundle in Bruce's arms. Gently, Bruce placed the small treasure into her other Father's arms. Pulling out his phone, Bruce positioned it just so and took their first picture as a family. After that, he snapped a couple close-ups of his princess' beautiful face. With a few flicks of his thumb, he sent them to the anxious grandparents waiting in Gotham.

Putting his phone away, he returned to stroking Clark's hair as he whispered, "That should appease your mother for a little while anyway."

"I guess we should head back."

"There's no rush. I want to hold onto this moment a little longer. Once we get back home, we'll probably barely see her between your mother, Barbara, Alfred and various members of the League."

Chuckling lightly, Clark agreed. Shifting onto his side, he opened up the blanket and started counting fingers and toes.

Of course, it couldn't last. They needed to go home eventually and home they went two hours later. As predicted, the baby was taken out of their arms the moment they arrived. Clark was shocked that his usually doting mother only patted his arm and barely gave him a once over before turning her full attention on her grandbaby. She could be heard singing a lullaby as she walked away, eager to show her off.

It would be another three hours before they got her back. Exhausted, Clark crawled into bed and watched as Bruce placed the baby into the reinforced bassinet at the foot of their bed. Yawning, he stretched as he felt the bed dip beside him. Smiling sleepily, he accepted his husband's kiss and sighed deeply before succumbing to sleep.

After Bruce was certain his husband was asleep, he slipped out of bed. Walking over to the bassinet, he carefully lifted the baby into his arms, shushing her as she started to fuss. With well-practiced stealth, Bruce made his way out of the bedroom, through the halls and down the stairs. Arriving at the library, he walked over to the wall-length portrait of his parents. Shifting the baby in his arms so that she could see the carefully posed people in front of her, Bruce said, "Mom, Dad, this is your granddaughter, Martha. Martha, these are your grandparents."

_"I thought it was time you all met."_


	2. Patience

Patience

Glancing at the clock, he shook his head. Not believing the red, glowing numbers that mocked him with the reality of how early in the morning it really was. Truly, three-thirty in the morning was a little early even for Clark. Looking to the right of the clock, he met two sets of eyes. One set was framed by black curls. The other was partially covered by a thick wave of auburn hair. Both sets were wide-open, blue and staring directly at him.

A quick check over his shoulder assured him that the repetitive chant of "Papa" and "Pop-Pop Clark" had not roused Bruce. Turning back to the kids, Clark raised a finger to his lips and shushed. They fell silent and backed away as he sat up. Rubbing his hand over his face, he continued to shush as he grabbed his robe. Pulling on the robe, he stood up and gestured for the two children to follow.

Once out in the hallway, he knelt down until he was eye level with both children and asked, "What are you two doing up?"

"I had a nightmare," confessed the smaller of the two.

Looking down at the small boy with red hair sticking out in all directions. Before he could ask what the nightmare was about, the girl standing beside him added, "I heard him crying in his sleep and I went to his room."

"Alright. J.B.. Marty. I understand nightmares are scary, but you really need to go back to your rooms."

"Wait, Papa," exclaimed Marty, grabbing at her nightgown and bouncing up and down. "We need your help."

"Yeah, Pop-Pop Clark, come with us," cried J.B. as he began to hop up and down like Marty. "Come with us. Come with us."

Shaking his head at the anxiousness in their eyes, Clark placed a firm hand on each child's shoulder and asked, "What's wrong?"

For a moment, the two children exchanged glances. After a moment, Marty stepped forward and curled her index finger at her Papa. As he leaned down to her, she placed her hands on his cheeks and turned his head so she could whisper in his ear.

"Alfred won't wake up."

The smallness of her voice gave him pause. The words sent a chill down his spine. Standing up, he took both children by the hand and led them down the hallway. They descended the stairs and crossed over to the west wing. There, they found the suite of rooms belonging to the Graysons. Knocking on Dick and Barbara's door, Clark waited patiently and listened to the rustling of fabric and the soft footfalls as they reached the door.

With the door cracked open, she saw her father-in-law standing there with his daughter and her son. Opening the door more, she whispered, "What time is it?"

"Three-thirty."

Sighing loudly, she rolled her eyes before placing her hand on her hip and saying, "James Bruce Grayson what did I tell you about leaving your room during the night? Didn't I tell you people need their sleep?"

His head hung low, he glanced upwards warily, peeking at his mother through his hair. Quickly, he nodded. Looking at the ground again, he softly replied, "Sorry, Mama."

Shaking her head, she lightly grabbed his shoulder and pulled him toward her. As Clark let go of his tiny hand, she ushered him into her room. Meeting Clark's eyes, she sighed, "I'm sorry about that, Clark. I'll give him the talk again."

Slowly, she narrowed her eyes as he continued to stand there. A shiver ran through her as his mouth formed a grim line. As his dark expression reached his eyes, he extended the hand holding onto Marty. Handing his daughter over, he explained, "I need to check on Alfred. Could you watch her for me until I come back?"

"Of course," she assured as she shepherded the girl into her room.

It would be fifteen hours before he saw his daughter again.

What waited for him wasn't really a surprise. He knew the instant Marty mentioned it. He sought out the familiar heartbeat and found nothing. It reminded him of the day Lois died. Leaning over Alfred's still body, he placed a heavy hand on cold skin. Despite the tremor running through his body, he managed to gently pull the sheet up, covering the man's face before he left to break the news to the family.

Of course, he told Bruce first. Upon hearing the news, the man nodded once and left the room.

For the next two hours, he had a phone plastered to his face. He called Dick and Barbara and updated them. He called the coroner's office and informed them of the basic facts. He called Commissioner Gordon and was assured the police assigned would be discreet. Next, he called the same funeral parlor he used before with Lois. Finally, he phoned Lucius at Wayne Enterprises and explained Bruce would be out for an undefined period of bereavement. Accepting Lucius' heartfelt condolences, he hung up the phone.

Then, a 6.7-magnitude earthquake hit Los Angeles, California. He raced off knowing he wouldn't be back for hours. By the time he returned, Bruce was gone, already on patrol. He found the children in the kitchen nook being fed diner by Dick and Barbara. Standing in the doorway, he watched as steaming plates were placed down on the table and for one moment things seemed normal.

Then, Marty said, "This isn't how Alfred makes it. Where is he anyway? Why isn't he here?"

All the adults exchanged anxious glances as J.B. chimed in, "He's not sick, is he?"

The funeral took place two days later.

During the viewing, Marty and J.B. sat beside Barbara in the front row. They tried to be good. They tried to be still when those surrounding them turned disapproving eyes upon them, but their attempts only made them squirm more. Just as giggles threatened to erupt again, the casket appeared.

As expected, Bruce and Dick were the lead pallbearers. Behind Bruce were Clark and Jonathan Kent. Meanwhile, Jim Gordon and Lucius Fox followed Dick. They stepped slowly down the center aisle, gently placing the casket down on the display slab. Taking a step back, they all bowed their heads for a moment before the funeral director stepped in to open the casket.

As the rest of the pallbearers backed away, finding their seats, Bruce and Dick advanced on the silent figure before them. Gently, Bruce placed a hand on Alfred's forehead and slowly shook his head. A hand on his arm brought Bruce back to the present just in time to catch Marty being chastised by Clark for her behavior.

Shrugging Dick off, he stormed over to the front row and said, "It's time to say goodbye, Marty."

"Bruce..." whispered Clark as he watched Bruce lean down and pull Marty into his arms. Conflict arose in his breast as they approached the casket. Holding his breath, he saw the confused way Marty tilted her head as Alfred came into view. Held tightly in her Father's arms, she stared down at the lifeless shell. Feeling tears sting at his own eyes, he saw the moment she realized Alfred was dead. He heard her cry out for Alfred while clinging to her father's jacket. He watched her turn away and hide her face as her body shook with sobs.

And, for just a moment, he hated Bruce.

Then, he saw Bruce turn around. He saw the grief pushed behind a chiseled mask. He could practically feel the pain Bruce wouldn't show and realized he couldn't hate him. Helpless. He sadly recognized that there was nothing he could do.

That night, Dick decided not to patrol.

As was so often the case, the moment Marty started doing something, J.B. quickly followed. Seeing her cry in Grandpa Bruce's arms at the funeral brought tears down the boy's own red cheeks. Roughly, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hands as Marty was placed on the seat beside him. Inching closer a little bit at a time, he eventually reached over and grabbed her hand. She quickly latched onto him. Even though she held his hand so tightly at times that he was forced to wince, he never attempted to pull away. Instead, he just sat beside her through the rest of the proceedings, offering a silent strength that should have been far beyond his years.

Now, back at Wayne Manor, Dick couldn't stop marveling at how it seemed both children had gone from five to twenty-five in the span of a few hours. It bothered him how much it reminded him of the day his own parents died. As he offered what comfort he could, he recalled how big Wayne Manor looked that first night. How scary it seemed. He remembered the gentle way Alfred led him to a guest room, staying to tuck him in. As he raised a blanket to let the two children slide in bed, he could only grasp onto the hope that filled him as he watched them cling to each other as he tucked the blanket in around them.

It was good that such warmth filled the old Manor because outside hope was in short supply.

On the dark streets of a dirty city, the criminals of Gotham fled the vicious onslaught of the Batman. Already, the night was filled with their cries for mercy. Shortly after sunset, a common thug found himself strung up five stories off the ground. He screamed until he passed out, but by then, the Batman had moved on to bigger game. Waylon Jones had just slithered out of the shadows with mischief on his mind, hired to kill a local businessman by Black Mask. Within a few feet of his target, he felt a bat-lasso wrap around his ankles. The subsequent electric shock flooded his every nerve ending and left him a paralyzed heap on the ground.

A couple of hours before sunrise found the Batman still hard at work. By this point, he had electrocuted three henchmen, strung up four minor criminals, beaten down a pair of drunken, joy riding teens and gassed one cat-burglar who he watched fall thirty feet down into an open trash bin.

At present, he was having fun on a rooftop. Smashing his fist repeatedly into the face of an attempted armed robber, he ignored his victim's pleas. The hapless man begged for help, for mercy, for the first several minutes of the beating. After that, he just groaned in pain each time he was kicked or punched. At last, he was so far gone that he didn't even protest when he saw Batman's fist recoil, setting up for a death blow.

That probably would have been the man's end except for a last minute flash of red and blue. Strong arms wrapped around Batman and pulled him away from the unconscious man who hit the pavement with a sloppy splat.

"Batman, stop this. Batman!" cried Superman as he wrestled with the Dark Knight. Spinning him around, he grabbed the cowl and yelled, "Get a hold of yourself!"

"Get a hold of myself?" Wrapping his hands around Clark's, Bruce stepped back and gracefully flung Superman across the rooftop. "Damn you. This is me getting a hold of myself! Can't you see that?"

"There are better ways," reasoned Clark as he stood up.

" How do you know?" sneered Batman as he slowly advanced. "What do you know of loss? Birth parents that you can't remember except through holograms? A wife who saw being tied to you as a burden?"

"Br...Batman..." stuttered Clark. As Bruce came toe-to-toe with him, he searched for some part of the man he knew. "I know Alfred-"

"No! No, you don't. You don't know anything. Your life has been so damn idyllic. Your loving, supportive parents. The small town you grew up in. Your powers. All those goddamn powers you have. All the things you can do that you didn't have to work one bit to learn."

"Self pity? Really, Bruce?" asked Clark as he watched Bruce turn away. "This isn't like you."

"Don't you get it?" Whirling around again, he let his cape wrap around him as he said, "I'm not who I was supposed to be. I was just a boy when they died. I was a perfectly normal boy. I had the world at me feet. Until that night. In that alley. The only thing at my feet was their blood."

"Please, let me help you," whispered Clark as he carefully approached Bruce with his palms up and his hands spread wide.

"He said that once. Alfred did. He said it after my parent's funeral, as he took off my shoes. He was going to return to England the next day. Didn't know that, did you? No. We never spoke of it afterwards. He never said anything about how I raced after him that morning. How I grabbed him by the coat when the taxi arrived. I refused to let go, but he didn't get mad. He just held me and sent the taxi away."

Kneeling on the rooftop, Bruce looked over at the unconscious criminal he beat up. Resting back on his heels, he looked up at the night sky and continued, "He was all I had. Don't you see? Without Alfred. It could have been so much worse. There were so many times I almost went astray. He always managed to pull me back. In his quiet, gentle way, he'd guide me back from the brink."

Bowing his head, Bruce thought back over the many years they shared. Their return to Gotham. The years they spent in Japan. The months following his parent's deaths. The many times he woke up as Alfred carried him to bed after he had fallen asleep below his parent's portrait. Curling his hands into fists, he recalled the firm hand Alfred placed on his shoulder at his parent's funeral. A comforting gesture so like the one he offered after Jason's death. The kind face that held such pride whenever looking at him. The smile Alfred sported as he held Marty for the first time. The one so filled with joy. Squeezing his eyes shut, he remembered the many lectures, the wise words, the patient voice; All the things he would never hear again.

As his mind grew blank, he felt hands on his shoulders. Unresponsive, he remained perfectly still as he felt hot breath against his ear.

"Let me be that gentle hand, now."

Looking up, Bruce nodded once. Slowly, he stood up and waited as Clark called the Watchtower with a request for medical help for the unconscious man at their feet. Once Clark was sure help was on its way, he turned to his husband again. Wrapping a comforting arm around Bruce, he gently pushed off the roof.

Several minutes later, they landed on the balcony to their room. Wordlessly, he helped Bruce out of his suit. He laid him down on their bed before slipping in next to him. Spooning behind him, he pressed against his back. Gently sliding his hand over Bruce's arms and chest, he whispered, "You don't have to be brave here, Bruce. You don't have to be strong all the time. Not with me."

"What is it exactly you want me to do?"

"Whatever you need to do. Cry. Yell. Punch me if you have to. It's okay. Just don't keep it inside."

"I'm not going to punch you. I don't exactly want a broken hand," he replied with a quiet, steady voice. "I can't yell. I'll wake Martha. As for crying, I didn't even cry when my parents died."

"Still, maybe you should."

Without another word spoken between them, they laid there in comfortable silence. After several minutes, Bruce buried his head into his pillow as Clark slowly wrapped his arms around him. Gently, lazy circles were traced over marred flesh as a strong leg draped over a muscular frame. As he followed the scars, Clark felt the first hitches of breath, followed by shoulders wracked by sobs.

Clinging to his bondmate, he pressed a kiss against the back of a trembling neck and finally let out the breath he'd held for days.


	3. Kindness

Kindness

Silent as the night, he crouched down on the rooftop, staring down at the noisy city beneath him. Concentrating on the rushing lights below, he slunk further into the shadows. Still, he sighed as he heard boots tap on the tile as they landed. As the small sounds echoed through the night, his eyes narrowed. The glare he shot over his shoulder grew more intense as the one clad in red and blue said, "Wow, they really made you wear the Technicolor tights and do the sidekick shtick, didn't they?"

"Robin is not just any old sidekick," growled J.B. as he returned his attention to the dark city beneath them. "Being Robin is a stepping stone."

"Y'know," tutted Marty. "You shouldn't believe everything your parents tell you."

"I don't, but it's true. My Father started out as a Robin and now he's Batman."

Glancing at the back of his head, Marty strutted over. She stopped once she was beside him and coolly placed her hands on the barely there curves of her fourteen year old body. "Right, you keep telling yourself that, sidekick, as I swoop in and save the day."

"Yeah, right, " he countered as he rolled his eyes, "All this from the pale imitation to my left."

"What did you say, brat?"

"You heard me, snob."

"Twerp."

"Prima Donna."

"Shrimp."

"Freak."

"Why don't you just shut up?"

"Why don't you just shut up?"

"Why don't you both shut up?"

"Sorry Da-I mean Oracle."

"Yeah, sorry."

"Keep you minds on the mission at hand."

"Yes sir!" they replied in unison. Shooting each other one last glare, Marty headed for Metropolis as J.B. drew a grappling gun from his utility belt. Shooting at the nearest rooftop, he tested the line before swinging away to rendezvous with Batman.

Later that night, the Super-Bat team met up at the Bat cave. Dick pulled off his cape and cowl, making quick work of the rest of his costume. As he pulled civilian clothes on, he tossed the uniform over at his son who didn't seem to want to take his own costume off. For his part, J.B. sat at his Father's feet, carefully folding the revered black cloth as he recounted again and again the night's activities. Now and then, his voice rose higher, attempting to draw his Grandfather Bruce into the story of how the villain's nose made a most satisfying crunch as his heel smashed into it. Not too bad for his first night out. Not too bad at all, remarked Dick.

With his back to them, Bruce continued to enter statistical data from their nightly mission. As he heard J.B. hoot, he paused long enough to glance over his shoulder. With a smile on his face, he turned back and continued typing.

Suddenly, the boy's story stopped as he watched his Grandpa Clark and Marty descend gracefully. They touched down at the same time, smiling at each other as they did. As Marty headed for her Dad, Clark said loudly, "Bruce, you'd be proud of our little girl. She took down Livewire with minimal damage to surrounding structures and no loss of Human life."

"How did you accomplish that, Marty?" asked Bruce as he turned around and interlaced his fingers.

"Well, it was easy, Dad." Tossing her curly black hair over her shoulder, she took several steps forward as she glanced smugly at J.B.. "As I was flying into Metropolis to meet up with Pa, I heard the distress call naming Livewire as the villain. I was almost directly over RCP brickyard at the time. I remembered that silicon is resistant to electrical properties and flew down and talked the yard manager into letting me have a couple fifty pound bags of silicon dust."

"Once I arrived at the scene, Livewire and Pa were in the middle of a spectacular fight, but she wouldn't fully materialize. Instead of jumping into the fight, I laid in wait. Finally, she got cocky enough that she materialized behind Pa. So, I pounced. I ripped open the first bag and flung the dust at her as I quickly flew by. As she struggled to remove it, I ripped open the other bag and circled her, hitting her with the remaining dust until she was completely insulated in the stuff."

"Why did you use dust?"

"The dust was lighter and allowed for more surface area to be covered in the initial attack."

Smiling proudly, Bruce opened his arms and said, "That's my girl."

Quick as a flash, she crossed the cave and flung herself onto his lap. Hugging him around the neck, she kissed his cheek as she laughed.

In response, he hugged her close for a good minute before pushing her away and giving her a serious expression. Holding his hand up, he silenced her questions. As she chewed on her lower lip, he shot the Bat-glare at her and said, "I didn't appreciate the chatter I heard over the lines earlier tonight."

"Sir?"

"Don't 'sir' me. J.B. earned his costume just like you did. He wouldn't be wearing it if he hadn't. No one here questions his role or his place on the team so, in the future, kindly keep your comments to yourself."

"Yes, sir."

"The streets are a dangerous place. What we do is a serious thing. You have no place speaking of it so flippantly. I don't want you to do it again. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," she whispered as she looked down at her boots. Turning around, she caught sight of J.B.'s self-satisfied smile. With a quiet growl, she felt her face grow hot as an explosion rang out from above.

"I had to see it with my own two eyes," called out a shrill voice.

Another small explosion, sent everyone scrambling for cover. Stalactites started to fall all around them. Quickly, Superman and Marty flew up, catching as many as they could, tossing them aside easily. As rubble rained down, the bat clan focused in on the source of the voice.

"Superman and Batman teamed up? There's a Supergirl? Wow. And a new Robin, too. You make this old bat cave seem almost domestic."

Instantly, Marty triangulated the voice as it echoed through the cave. Zeroing in on the source location, she shot off like a rocket. She stopped in mid-air a split second later, a green cloud surrounding her. As her face paled, she rolled slowly before falling like a stone.

From out of nowhere, J.B. emerged. Running at full speed, he jumped out at the last second and grabbed Marty. Wrapping his arms and legs around her, he spun them both to the side, rolling when they fell to Earth. Once they came to a stop, he pulled a gas mask from his belt and placed it over her mouth. As she gasped for breath, he started to brush the residue from her skin and costume.

"Pulverized Kryptonite. Dust, really."

Looking up at the cloud quickly spreading out, carried by the cave's ventilation system. Superman looked at both the effective shield and his prone daughter with the same helpless look on his face as he realized he couldn't approach either one.

"I remember when you taught me that trick, too, Bruce."

Across the cave, Bruce's eyes narrowed as he stood up and left his cover. Out in the open, he bellowed at the darkness overhead.

"Who are you?"

"You mean you don't recognize me?" was the mirth filled response. "Gee, Dad... That really hurts."

Suddenly, a bright light filled the cavern. At the center of the light, hanging from a grappling line, was Jason Todd.

"Jason?"

"So, you do remember, after all. I'm touched, Bruce. I really am." With a mock salute, Jason hit a button on his grappling gun and disappeared back into the darkness.

Immediately, Dick suited up and left on the batcycle.

"Jason, wait!"

"Grandpa Bruce! Marty's not breathing!"

The next several minutes involved multiple rounds of CPR. It took specialized equipment to remove all the traces of Kryptonite from the surface of her skin. Just as the machine proclaimed her officially clean, the bat cave internal environmental controls managed to clear the air. Placed on a lab bed, she remained deathly pale due to the Kryptonite she inhaled. Hooked up to life support, she remained perfectly still as J.B. kept watch, refusing to leave.

Kept away by the Kryptonite, Clark busied himself with clean-up. He cleared the rubble and swept up broken glass. He righted knocked over cabinets and consoles. Even as the traces of Kryptonite threatened to overwhelm him, he wouldn't retreat to the manor. Instead, he leaned on the broom until wave after wave of nausea died away. As the air cleared, he felt his strength return but he still kept his distance. From across the cave, he watched them work on Marty; the Kryptonite in her lungs alone was enough to keep him at bay.

Finally, he watched Bruce pat J.B. on the shoulder. Riveted on Bruce's approaching figure, he was about to ask for an update on their daughter's condition when Bruce walked right past him, a simple command left in his wake.

"Follow me."

Quickly, he complied. Falling into step with Bruce by the time they entered the manor, he asked no questions. Once outside, they walked with a common purpose to the Wayne family crypt. Inside, Clark paused at the door as Bruce approached the grave in question. Nestled between Martha Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth was the crypt plate for Jason Todd. Slowly, he slid his fingers along the edge, cursing at the dust. Taking a step back, he raised his hand, granting permission. Bowing his head as he stepped up to the plate, Clark took a deep breath as he eased his fingers under the edge of the bronze plate. With as little disturbance to nearby graves as possible, removed the slab of granite sealing the individual crypt.

Inside, sat the sturdy casket Bruce escorted home from Ethopia. Crouching beside it as Clark placed it on the ground, he ran his fingers across the smooth, brown surface. Releasing the lock, he opened it with a single swift gesture. The body inside was haunting. It appeared as if sixteen years of decay never touched it. Touching the pale cheek marbled with purple-green bruises, he fingers recoiled immediately.

"It's fake. Just a doll."

"How is that possible?"

"I'm not sure. I inspected the body prior to placing it on my private plane. It was real at that point. Dressed in these clothes or in a set just like them."

"Were there any layovers?"

"None. The flight went straight from Addis Ababa to Gotham. The casket was picked up at the airport by-"

"Who, Bruce?"

"Alfred," he whispered as he pounded his fist on the casket edge. Standing up, he stared at the crypt plate to the right of the gaping hole in the wall. "He was very fond of Jason. The whole ordeal was difficult... for him. Perhaps he left the body unattended at the airport or here, on Wayne grounds, before it was interred."

"Wouldn't he have inspected the casket before?"

"No. He wouldn't have opened the casket. I had warned him that Jason didn't look very good."

"Do you think that was really Jason who attacked us, tonight?"

"I think that I no longer have proof that he's dead."

Returning to the manor, they entered the bat cave just as Batman arrived. Anger punctuating every movement he made, he growled as he ripped off the cape and cowl. Marching across the bat cave, he stopped a couple inches from Bruce and shouted, "You told me he was dead!"

"He was dead," he replied, returning Dick's intense glare. "I held his dead body in my own arms."

"You must have gotten something wrong, Bruce, because that was Jason. I would bet good money on it. Jason is alive."

"Who?"

The strangled voice sounded dry. In response, a plastic straw was pressed to her lips allowing her to slowly sip cool water from a waiting glass. As she exhaled, she asked again, "Who?"

"Marty!" cried Clark. In a flash, he stood by her side. Taking her by the hand, he helped her sit up. Still pale, she smiled at her Pa weakly as each second saw more color enter her cheeks. Finally, as she stretched, she cast a quick smile at J.B. before she stuck her tongue out at him.

"How do you feel?" came her Dad's concerned voice.

"Like I just got Kryptonite bombed, but all things considered, not too shabby."

Patting her gently on the shoulder, Bruce smiled. Helping her to stand, he said, "Let's get you back to the manor."

"Wait, Dad. Who was that? It was like he knew you."

"Don't worry about that, Marty."

"But, Dad?"

"I said drop it. You're off this case. It's too dangerous for you."

"But-"

"But, nothing," he commanded as he led her to the manor, through the door Barbara held open for them.

Across the room, Dick turned toward his son and ordered, "That goes for you, too, J.B. You're going to hang up the tights until this blows over. Do you understand?"

"That's not fair," whined the boy. Sitting on the stool gave him the illusion of added height and he used it. Meeting his Father almost eye-to-eye. "I just got out there. I worked for years for the chance to be Robin. You can't just take it from me, now."

"You need to learn now, J.B. I'm the lead in this team. I'm Batman. If I say stay in the bat cave, then you stay in the bat cave. There will be times when I can't explain my actions, even to you. You simply have to obey."

In disbelief, the boy shook his head before he squared his shoulders. Shooting one last glare at his father, he ran into the manor.

As he removed his suit for the second time that night, he heard the door close. He could sense the presence behind him, but he ignored it as he pulled on casual clothes. Just as he looked in the mirror to fix his hair, he heard her question.

"Do you really think it was Jason?"

Turning to face his wife, his angry eyes softened. Crossing over to her, he wrapped his arms around her. He placed his head on her shoulder and felt her slide a comforting hand over his hair. Nodding, he drew her closer to him.

"How can you be sure?"

"He knew things. He said things. He did things."

"What things?"

Slowly, he pulled away from her. Stepping away, he ran his hands over his face. As he cupped his chin, he recounted the events.

"I cornered him in an alley. I think he thought I might catch him. He started taunting me, trying to throw me off guard. He said something about Jason and how he was proof that Batman could kill. I snapped. I rushed him. I yelled that he'd regret ever choosing to impersonate Jason."

"He laughed. It was Jason's laugh. It was high pitched and lyrical, almost maniacal. He insisted he was Jason and that was when he said he always knew Batman never really understood him. He said... He said Nightwing would know it was really him."

"Nightwing?" asked Barbara as she placed gentle but firm hands on his back.

"It was the nick-name he gave me. Back when we were kids, Clark would come by to see Bruce and end up hanging out with us. He told us old legends from Krypton about two heroic figures named Flamebird and Nightwing. Jason and I loved these stories. We started calling each other Flamebird and Nightwing. I was Nightwing. Jason was Flamebird. We never told anyone. It was our secret."

Turning to face her, he looked down at her hands. Interlacing their fingers, he whispered, "After I lost my family, I thought I would never have parents, much less brothers again. Then, Bruce adopted me and Alfred welcomed me with open arms. I was fifteen when Bruce brought Jason here. He became my brother in every since of the word. I took him under my wing. I softened the blow where Bruce was concerned."

"This isn't a blow you can soften, Dick. He's not just your kid brother. He's a villain, now, and you're going to have to stop him."

In the manor, Bruce deposited Marty in her favorite chair in the library. He asked if she needed anything, but her only response was a curt shake of her head. Tension filled her body. Her eyes were full of questions and hurt. He didn't fall victim to any of it. Not the eyes that matched his own. Not the pout that once got her a pony when she was eight. None of it. Instead, he turned on his heel and marched out of the room.

A moment later, J.B. entered the room. Sulking, he crawled onto the sofa across from her and pulled his knees to his chest, resting his chin on them.

They sat in silence until Clark appeared at the doorway. Instantly, they sat straighter. Following him with their eyes, they watched him rest a tray on the coffee table. As he bowed down to fill their mugs with warm cocoa, they found their voices.

"Pa?"

"Grandpa Clark?"

With a snap, his head was up. His eyes shifted from one to the other as J.B. made his case.

"I know you and Grandpa Bruce are only trying to protect us, but we've earned the right to know."

"Earned, you say?"

"Yes, Pa," chimed in Marty. "We go out there, too. Dad was right earlier tonight. The work we do is dangerous. We put our lives on the line and that means we get the right to have some questions answered."

"I'm sorry guys, but this time, it's complicated. It's something we adults should handle by ourselves."

"Grandpa Clark, I know you see us as kids, but this man came into our home. He almost killed Marty. He's a threat and we have an obligation to protect this family and ourselves. How can we do that if we're not given all the facts?"

Looking his grandson in the eyes, Clark scrutinized the boy for a long moment. With a small smile, he watched as J.B. neither flinched or looked away before he nodded. Clearing his throat, he bent down and grabbed their mugs. He handed each one the warm cups before he walked over to the chair next to Marty and sat down. Taking a deep breath, he spoke softly,

"We believe the person who came here tonight is someone named Jason Todd, but that has not yet been confirmed."

"Who is he? He seemed to know Dad."

"Yeah, I think I remember him calling Grandpa Bruce "Dad."

"Marty, Jason is your brother. J.B., that makes him your uncle."

"What?" they cried in unison.

"Before either of you were born, Jason died fighting the Joker. He was only sixteen years old at the time. If that was truly Jason, then somehow, he's managed to come back to life."

"How is this possible? I've never heard anything about a Jason, much less having another brother besides Dick."

"Grandpa Clark, why is this the first we are hearing about this? My mom and dad have never mentioned this to me before."

"Marty, your father took Jason's death very hard. He felt responsible for the events that led to his death and for putting him in harm's way. He had everything that reminded him of Jason stripped from the manor. He ordered everything be destroyed, but Alfred placed them in a seldom used storage space in the manor instead. It's all still there."

"Grandpa Clark, the man who came here tonight was not dead. How is any of this possible?"

"That, I can't explain. Not yet."

"We have to help him."

"I don't know if we can, Marty."

"But, he's family, Pa. We shouldn't abandon him and we can't hunt him down like some dog in the street. It's not right."

"I'm sorry. It's just not that simple."

Shaking his head, Clark stood up. He seemed to pause to say something and then decided against it. With a weak wave, he bid them goodnight.

For the next four nights, Batman slammed every thug, loan shark and petty thief he could find up against the nearest, hardest wall. All he learned was that, at this point, they feared Jason more.

During the day, Barbara used her position as patrol commander with the Gotham Police department to further their search. She issued an all points bulletin for a young man matching Jason's description. In the end, all she found were twelve dead bodies - All members of Joker's gang.

The night of Jason's attack, Bruce started a file. He entered all known information concerning Jason Todd into it. He detailed the way the boy first came to his attention because he had managed to steal the tires off the batmobile. He entered information about his estranged father, Willis Todd, a petty crook who died years before he adopted Jason. Flexing his fingers, he pounded the keyboard as he entered the information for Sheila Haywood, the treacherous waste who dared to call herself a mother.

From memory, he listed the boy's abilities. His proficiency with a batarang. His acrobatic skill. His intelligence. His barely contained rage. Culling information from both Barbara and Dick's investigations, he conjured a current psychological profile. Staring at the result, Bruce felt a deep pit sink in his stomach. Shaking his head, he prepared for what had to be done.

Little by little, J.B. and Marty were allowed to return to the streets, if in a highly restricted way. They shadowed their respective Fathers. Marty took to the skies beside Superman while J.B. rode beside Batman as they tried in vain to get ahead of the vicious crime wave perpetrated by Jason Todd.

For six days, Jason eluded them. He always seemed to be two steps ahead. Hard to catch, he skated past every trap they set until finally they came up with the right bait.

On loan from Arkham Asylum, the Joker cackled and jeered incessantly. Vile words spewed from his mouth as he detailed his many crimes, some hitting very close to home. Seated on the hard floor of an abandoned warehouse, he laughed madly as Batman and Robin laid their traps. Finally, the stage was set. Falling back into the shadows, they waited for the main actor to enter the stage.

As expected, Jason didn't disappoint. He lowered down from the roof on a grappling line. Shining a light out at the darkness, he licked his lips when the Joker came into full view. A thirst for revenge filled his eyes as he dropped a grenade onto the floor at Joker's feet.

As the round, metal sphere bounced on the ground, a sense of self-preservation took a hold of the Joker. He scooted back as best he could with both hands shackled behind his back and both feet bound at the ankles. His head whipped from one side to the other, searching the shadows.

"Oh Batsy... If you're going to play the hero, now would be a good time."

Instead of black and gray, a blur of red, yellow and green flew past. Rushing to the bomb, Robin grabbed it and threw it as far as he could. The blast came forty feet later. About two feet from the ground, the percussion blast knocked Robin off-balance. As he hit the deck, Jason flung a disc at Robin that exploded ten feet over him, expanding into a wide net. As it made contact, the electrical current kicked in.

For several seconds after that, all that could be heard were Robin's screams.

Out of a deep shadow, a batarang flew. It landed beside Robin, touching the tazor net covering the convulsing body. Instantly, the screams stopped as the electric snaps faded, the electric current countered by the curved weapon.

"That's one deep fried bird. Mmmm... White meat. My favor-"

A swift kick to the head ended the Joker's attempt at comedy. Lowering his leg, Jason stared down at the unconscious man at his feet. Clenching his hands, he shifted his stance so he could land a kill shot. As his leg jerked forward, a voice called out behind him.

"Jason, stop!"

Slowly, his leg came back to Earth. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched Batman emerge from the shadows. Turning to the cape and cowl, Jason sneered, "Still trying to save everyone, huh Batman?"

Pulling two guns from his waistband, he trained one on the Joker and the other on Robin. Cocking them both, he faced Batman and said, "Choose."

Dropping his hands, Batman let his cape fall around him. Crouching down, ready to pounce, he waited silently. He watched Jason closely. He examined the young man's tension filled body. The youthful features that seemed as much frozen in time as overflowing with rage.

"No opinion? No great lectures? Words of wisdom?" asked Jason sarcastically. Jason smiled wickedly and inched closer to Robin. Glancing down at the boy, his smile melted off his face. His eyes narrowed as he gripped his gun tighter.

"You haven't updated the costume at all. It could be my suit that he's wearing. Is it? My suit?"

Still, the Batman was silent.

Looking up, Jason trained wide eyes on Batman. Taking a few steps back, he whispered, "How could you? How could you replace me so easily? You called me your son. Didn't that mean anything to you?"

Slowly, the eye slits in his mask narrowed, but still, Batman said nothing.

"Don't you have anything to say to me!" he screamed as he turned away from his hostages. He took a few steps up to the caped crusader. Pointing his weapons at the sky, his whole frame shook with rage as he yelled, "Damn it! Say something!"

"Flamebird?"

As Jason stood straighter, Batman did the same. Reaching up, Dick watched confusion and curiosity spread across his youthful features. As he removed his cape and cowl, he asked, "Brother, don't you know who I am?

"Dick?"

"Yes."

"No, this can't be. Not you. It can't be you. What kind of a sick joke is this? Bruce is Batman. Are you hiding him? Did you put on this costume just to protect him?"

"No, Jason. Don't you realize how much time has passed? Bruce hasn't worn the cowl in nearly ten years.

"It doesn't matter. He still betrayed me. He said we were a family but that was a lie. He let them take me. He let them do this to me. How could he? He said we were a family."

"Who, Jason? Who did this you?"

"Ra's al Ghul. He put me in the Lazarus Pit."

"Oh Jason. Bruce didn't know. I swear he didn't. None of us did. As for family... Jason, you've missed so much. Barbara and I got married. The new Robin is our son. Bruce got married, too. We have a sister, now. Please, Jason. Let me help you. Come back to the bat cave with me."

Extending his arms, Dick begged him silently to return, to give himself up peacefully. Maybe, there was a way to keep this all quiet. Maybe, this could all just go away. There had to still be a way to save his little brother. He couldn't bare to lose any more family.

Shaking, Jason met Dick's gaze. He wavered for a second before taking a step back. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shrunk back from Dick's open arms. On reflex, Dick pulled a batarang and a bat-lasso from his belt. He ordered Jason to stop, threatened to use the weapons against him. Visibly trembling, Jason shook his head once more before retreating into the shadows. Falling to his knees, Dick watched him disappear into the pitch black darkness. Letting the weapons fall from his fingers, he dropped his head in his hands.

A moment later, screams filled the space as an eerie glow shone in the distance. As the distant spark retreated, quiet returned. Slowly, a new sound emerged from the oily blackness. The click-clack of footsteps grew louder and louder until, out of the void, Bruce appeared, cradling Jason in his arms.

Hours later, Jason woke up. He went to shield his eyes from the bright lights only to realize that he couldn't move his hand. Taking a quick assessment, he slowly began to grasp that he couldn't feel his body. The only part he seemed to be able to control were his eyelids which he started blinking furiously simply because he could. Slowly, feeling worked it's way down his face. He scrunched up his lips as he started to regain control of his mouth and tongue.

"Don't try to speak."

Tenderly, two fingers landed on his forehead. Looking up, Jason watched as Bruce slowly came into his line of vision.

"You're shackled and I have a potent paralytic hooked up to your i.v.."

Instantly, he stopped twitching, he directly returned Bruce's gaze. A sad smile ghosted over Bruce's features before he sighed loudly.

"The night you broke into the bat cave, it was like Lazarus returned to life. It brought back all the old memories that I pushed away years ago. I felt a peace I hadn't felt since the day you died. Jason. Honestly, you were the one that reminded me the most of myself. The way you flung caution to the wind. Your determination. Your rage."

"It was your rage that drew me to you. When you were a boy, I tried my best, but I never could cure you of it. With all those hours of practice, I attempted to channel that anger, to give it a positive outlet. I even took you out in the field hoping responsibility would help you hand over some of the rage within you."

"But now, I realize that there never was anything to you but rage. Recent events have only served to confirm that fact. After all that has happened to you, I doubt very much that there is anything left in you. While I hope you can still someday get past what has happened to you, I no longer have the luxury of tolerance."

"I can't bring myself to kill you straightaway, but I can't stand by and let you threaten the safety of this family. So I'm banishing you. Listen very carefully, Jason. I've implanted a device in your brain. You will be released anywhere you want in Europe. You will be equipped with a phone and Lucius Fox's personal phone number. Lucius has graciously agreed to act as a liaison and send you any money you request. You will be cared for as the Wayne you are, but, be clear, you are never to return to Gotham. If you step one foot into the city of Gotham, the device in your brain will kill you."

"Bruce?"

Again, the fingers returned to his forehead. Soon, the heavy weight of a hand laid flat across his skin. Helplessly, he watched Bruce reach over to something he highly suspected was his I.V. line. As the world started to spin, the last words Jason heard were:

"Jason, it really is good to see you're alive, son."


	4. Chastity

Chastity

Sitting in her home office, Barbara bent over her monthly personnel reports. Sighing loudly, she circled a typo in her first draft. Leaning back, she closed her eyes and stretched. With her eyes still closed, she rubbed the back of her neck. As she moaned from the pleasure, a sound from the doorway grabbed her attention. Opening her eyes quickly, she found Marty staring back at her, half hidden by the door jamb.

"Marty? Hi, honey."

Quietly, the young woman inched into the room looking for a moment like the little girl Barbara once knew. At sixteen, Marty was a marvel of beauty, intelligence and charm. Her blue-black hair fell in rolling curls down to the small of her back. Her big, icy-blue eyes, so filled at this moment with questions and fear, practically glowed, drawing people in almost against their will.

"Is something wrong?"

Tilting her head, she looked at the ground. Answering with a small nod, she seemed unable to meet Barbara's eye.

"Marty? Come here. It's okay. Just tell me what's wrong."

Taking one small step at a time, Marty stopped at the edge of the desk. Leaning against it, she said, "I wanted to talk to you, Barbara."

"About?"

"You know I've been seeing Warren for a while now."

"For about three months, right?"

"That's right. Well, we've been getting real close. We've been thinking of getting closer. The thing is... My dads have sheltered me a lot. They won't talk about things like this and, really, I want to talk to another woman about this sort of thing, y'know?"

"I think I understand what you're asking me," replied Barbara. Pushing away from her desk, she slowly stood up. Closing her files, she placed a hand on Marty's cheek. Smiling sadly, she whispered, "Follow me."

Together, they walked through the manor until they reached the main library. There, Barbara flashed one last remorseful look at Marty before opening the door to the library only to reveal Clark sitting in one of the room's many chairs. At the sight of her father holding a book, Marty turned on Barbara and asked, "Why?"

"The day is finally here, Clark," she announced without ever acknowledging Marty's question. For a moment, confusion filled his features. Then comprehension dawned. Setting his book aside, he quickly rose and crossed the room. As he closed in on them, Barbara turned to Marty and said, "I'm sorry, honey, but your father made me promise to bring you straight to him if you ever had questions of this nature."

Staring at flushed cheeks, Barbara didn't miss the menace in her eyes. Sighing loudly again, she nodded once at Clark before she said, "I'll be going, now."

Watching her leave, Marty felt tears sting her eyes. Clenching her hands into fists, she flinched when she heard her father speak.

"Marty come in and lock the door behind you."

For the next hour, Clark spoke and Marty listened. To his credit, he never blushed once. He explained Kryptonian physiology. He told her what to expect from the bond. He explained the limits it placed on her and the responsibility required to enter into it wisely. Finally, once he finished explaining, he gently asked if she had any questions.

In response, she laughed.

At first, the laughter was airy and contained a slight whine on the end. Slowly, it intensified from a titter to a giggle to a maniacal cackle. Just when Clark was beginning to get really worried, she flew to her feet and stood rigidly, not making a sound. Looking her father directly in the eyes, the words came out in a rush.

"Do I have any questions? Really, Pa? You tell me that in my whole life I will be allowed to be with one person. Only one person. All my life. You say it like it's so normal, but there's nothing normal about that. Then, you have the audacity to ask me if I have any questions. What are you saying? You want questions? Here's a question - Am I going to be trapped in the first relationship I ever have? What if I make a mistake? What if the first time doesn't last? What happens then?"

"You are Kryptonian, Marty," he answered after a significant pause. "You don't get to make a mistake where this is concerned."

"All my life, I've been warned. Be careful. Humans are fragile. Don't squeeze them too tightly. It's only a wall made of brick. Don't hit it too hard. Always warned of other's weaknesses, but you wait until now to tell me of the weakness lurking within me. My inability to love. My inability to be in a real relationship. How could you?"

"Your Dad wanted to tell you earlier, but he left the final decision up to me. I decided that you should be allowed some kind of a childhood. I didn't want to tell you such an adult truth. Not just this. There are powers you possess that I've never taught you to use. Mind control. Temporal manipulation. Perhaps, since you are ready for this, It's time for you to learn the rest as well," he explained. He stood up and approached her cautiously. As he came to stand directly in front of her, he added, "Is that fair? No. It isn't. Not much in life ever is, but this is what your life is. This is what it means to be a Kryptonian. Just like when you do gymnastics or hug your father, you have to be careful in a way others don't have to be."

"So what happens after "the one? What happens to you once Dad dies?"

"Marty, please calm down. I'm not saying you will have only one love of your life because I've had two so far. I'm just saying that you will have to have them one at a time. Our life spans are so much longer than any Human life could ever be. At some point, you will have to face the mortality of the ones you love. We both will. We will have to replace the ones we love or we will die, as well."

"Have you picked someone out already? Has someone caught your eye? What about Dad? What does he think about all this? Does he know the moment he's dead that you'll be hooking up with some replacement?"

"Marty!" came the growled response. Glaring down at his daughter, Clark found himself quickly losing his patience. "Your Father knows how this all works because he wasn't my first bondmate. As for what he thinks about this - you'd have to ask him about that."

Thrusting out her chin, Marty never looked away from her father's eyes. She stood toe to toe with him even after he shouted her name. Crossing her arms over her chest, she narrowed her eyes and coolly whispered, "I'll do that."

Taking a step back, she turned and fled the room.

Once out the door, she started to shake. Hugging herself desperately, she went in search of her dad. Setting the Grandfather clock to 8:25, she pulled the internal weights, triggering the door to the bat cave to open. Stepping inside, she found him sitting at the computer bay. On the screen, a map of Gotham City was dotted with multiple red dots, each one blinking rapidly. As she made her way over, the image was locked away behind a password enabled screensaver.

As she closed in behind him, he turned around. A question in his eyes, he took in her shattered eyes and her subdued body language. Once she leaned against the console, he asked, "Is something bothering you, Marty?"

"I just had a talk with Pa."

"A talk?"

"The Talk."

"I see," he whispered, softly. Taking her by the hand, he tugged at her until she came to sit on his lap. Gently, he stroked her hair as she rubbed her face in his shoulder. Patiently, he wrapped his arms around her and waited for her to speak. As she propped her feet on the arm of the chair, she mumbled something intelligible against his neck.

"What did you say, Marty?"

"I said," she repeated as she rested her temple on his shoulder, letting her arms curl against his chest. "I don't understand."

"What do you need help understanding?"

"What I don't get is... Did you know about the whole bond situation when you met Pa?"

"No."

"So, he hid it from you, too."

"Don't be so hard on him. It wasn't like that," he replied as he pressed a kiss against her forehead. "When we first met, he didn't know about it either. He learned about it from the Fortress after he married his first bondmate."

"Did you know her?"

"Yes, I did."

"What was she like?"

"She was unique. She was hard-headed, but she possessed an inner-strength that was very becoming."

"Did he tell her?"

"Yes."

"When did he tell you?"

"Before we were...," he began, but found it hard to finish. Swallowing hard, he glanced down at her curiously broken-hearted face "-Intimate."

"And you didn't run for the hills?"

"Obviously not."

Pushing away, she sat up. With her hands braced on his chest, she searched his eyes for the truth as she asked, "Does it bother you that he'll replace you as soon as you die?"

"Yes," answered Bruce in a steady voice. At the sight of her crestfallen face, he clarified his response. "But, the idea that he might die if he doesn't bothers me more."

"Has there ever been a time you wished you hadn't bonded with him?"

"Yes," he admitted. Meeting her inquisitive eyes, he sighed loudly before he continued, "Early on in our relationship, your father and I went through some hard times. Knowing that if I left, he would die, made that time very difficult."

"Then why did you do it? Why did you bond with him in the first place?"

"That's the easiest question you asked me so far. Marty, I stay with your Father for the same reason why I offered to bond with him in the first place - I love him. Even then, I loved him and, in all these years, that love has never wavered."

Gently, he brushed away the tears that fell down her cheeks. Cupping her face, he pulled her forward and looked her in the eyes. "Your time will come. You'll see. There's someone out there meant just for you. It probably won't be Warren, but there will be someone."

Weakly, she tried to pull away at the mention of her boyfriend. His hands grabbed her arms and refused to let go. Tilting his head from one side to the other, he tried to make her look at him. Instead, she shook her head, her hands covering her ears.

"Don't shake your head. I tell you it's true. That person will present themselves once you're ready. Don't worry. You're so young. You have all the time in the world to find that special person."

"Just promise me one thing," he whispered as he clutched her chin, lifting it until she once again met his eyes. "Before you do anything - know with a certainty that you love him and that he's worthy of you."

Nodding furiously, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Pulling him into a fierce hug, she carefully tightened her embrace so as to not hurt him. Her raging emotions made it so difficult, yet she still managed. Shaking uncontrollably, she drew in a ragged breath and pushed away from her father. Flashing a shy smile, she lifted into the air and flew away.

Outside the manor, she floated out over the grounds. She raced through the maze, darting around corners. Skimming over the duck pond, she let her left hand dangle toward the wet surface, her fingertips leaving thin ripples behind. Doing a slow circle eight, she flew over the gardens, plucking a glowing, white moonflower. Pausing to breathe in the heavy aroma of the bloom, she saw that J.B.'s window was still lit.

Tucking the flower behind her ear, she headed for his balcony.

Softly, she touched down. As a Kryptonian, she didn't feel the cold, but the prospect of once again going inside the manor, of facing all she learned that night, made her tremble. Knocking on the French doors, she hugged herself and waited.

Cautiously, J.B. opened his balcony doors. Finding Marty standing there, he jumped back. Opening the door wide, he ushered her in while making mental note of her pale skin, gooseflesh and hunched back. Lightly his arms wrapped around her, drawing her to his bed. Sitting her down gently, he looked at her closely - Only now did he notice her shimmering eyes.

Resting beside her, he flicked his finger at the flower in her hair. Running his knuckles down the side of her face, he watched the first tear fall. Pulling her close, he tucked her head beneath his chin and held her tightly. In his arms, she knew she was safe. If she squeezed back too tightly, he would never tell. It would be their secret. There would be no words. No questions. No explanations required.

It took several minutes, but she finally cried herself out. Meeting his curious gaze, she explained. She told him everything just as she always told him everything.

Patiently, he listened. Once she finished, he whistled. "Wow. That's a lot to take in, Marty. What are you going to do, now?"

"I don't know."

"Are you and Warren going to...going to?"

"No. I thought it was a gift I was giving him, but now I know it's really a curse. I can't do that to someone I care about."

"Don't be like that. It's not a curse," J.B assured her. Holding back his smile, he explained, "It's more than a gift. It's a miracle, really, because someone is going to get to be with you forever. Once he has you, he'll never be able to lose you. I can't think of anything better than that."

"Ahh, you're sweet."

"I'm right. We all know I'm smarter than you."

"Oh please, shrimp."

"I'm not a shrimp anymore," he replied as he watched her roll her eyes. Jumping to his feet, he stood as tall as possible before he issued his challenge, "Stand up, snob. We'll see who the shrimp is."

"You're on."

Standing beside him, she looked straight into his eyes. Her mouth dangled open as she realized they were the exact same height. Smiling sadly, she sighed, "I guess I can't call you shrimp, anymore."

"So long as I can still call you 'snob,' you can call me 'shrimp.' Deal?"

"Deal," she replied as she shook his hand.

Glancing at his alarm clock, she realized how late it was. Or, should she say early. The bright number two told her it was a bit of both. Facing him once again, she smiled warmly as she pulled him into one last hug before stealing away to her own room.


	5. Diligence

Diligence

_If you step one foot into the city of Gotham, the device in your brain will kill you."_

When Bruce Wayne said those words, he meant them. It wasn't his fault if Jason didn't listen.

If he was honest, Bruce would say it surprised him that it took three years. He thought Jason would test his boundaries or give into his darker impulses long before that. Maybe, he genuinely tried to rehabilitate. Perhaps, he genuinely tried to leave his past behind. Conceivably, this could be just an extremely elaborate way to commit suicide. Of course, it could be he simply bided his time, letting his rage fester until it consumed him completely. Bruce would never know for sure.

A couple of days before Thanksgiving, he received an urgent call from Lucius. A week before, Jason disappeared. Fell right off the map. His phone shut off. His last known address vacant. An investigation of his last known hangouts revealed evidence that he had been devising a plan to return to Gotham.

Of course, the news alarmed the Super-Bat family. The last time Jason came for them he set off a Kryptonite bomb in the bat cave. Dick considered the entire episode the darkest, lowest point he had suffered in his tenure as Batman. It was the only time he ever faltered while apprehending a villain. Sadly, he didn't know if he had changed. He didn't know if he had it in him to stop Jason, by any means necessary. He wondered if he would fail, this time, as he did before.

Clearly, Clark feared for the safety of his daughter. He worried about his family. The safety of Gotham and all its inhabitants concerned him, as well. He remembered the crime spree Jason embarked on the last time he visited. The loss of life spread a wave of fear throughout the city he now called home. He didn't want Jason to terrorize his home or his family. He desperately wanted to play some role in his apprehension but, three years ago, Superman was of little help. Today, that seemed to still be true.

Mostly, he wanted to offer whatever support he could to Bruce. The night of Lucius' call, Bruce left the room upon hanging up the phone. Clark followed. He found Bruce sitting at his computer running a diagnostic program on the bat cave computer. Leaning against the console, he tried to get Bruce to talk, but his success in this arena has only ever been so-so. In the end, he left Bruce to finish his work. While a sense of anxiety threatened to overtake him, Clark couldn't help but notice that Bruce didn't seem concerned at all.

For a week, German authorities placed their airports on high alert. They increased security at their borders. They sent troops into the mountains. All in an effort to catch one young man. They almost did catch him once, but the son of Batman is not so easily caught by local authorities. He slipped from their grasp and the German's official report stated he was believed to have fled the country.

Back in Gotham, the police department were set on a state of high alert. Many on the force remembered Jason's last crime spree. There were roadblocks and sweeps of the subway. They checked airports and bus terminals. They bribed their snitches. They hauled in people just to shake them down. All of this was to no avail.

Inside, Bruce knew it would come down to this. Sitting at his computer console, a map of Gotham on the screen, he pictured Jason in his mind. He saw the grave face of a troubled twelve year old boy as he ran another diagnostic test.

Shortly before Christmas, Bruce came home from the office to find Clark waiting for him in the main foyer. In his hands, he held the coroner's official report. The place of death indicated that the body was found at a small airfield just within city limits. Today was the date of death. The time was early this morning. The cause of death read: Aneurysm. Bruce knew better. It was the device making good on its vicious promise.

"Who else knows?"

"The authorities, of course. Dick and Barbara took the kids out so that I-"

"Could break it to me gently? That was very considerate, Clark, but I'll be fine."

Clutching the paper in his hands, he tried to brush past Clark, but strong hands didn't let him. Meeting Bruce eye to eye, Clark said, "Don't shut me out."

"I've had a long day. It just got longer. So, just let me be."

"Bruce."

"Clark. Don't worry. It won't be like when Alfred died."

"Why is that? Because, with Alfred, you didn't feel the guilt you feel now."

"Clark..." It came out as a warning that died on his lips. Reaching up, he pushed Clark's hands off his arms.

"Bruce, you did nothing wrong."

With a weak shake of his head, Bruce stepped forward as he slid his hands up to cradle the face he'd woken up next to for the past eighteen years. As he felt familiar arms encircle his waist, he sighed, "I did something today, I've never done before. I killed a man, today."

"What?"

"The last time Jason died, I felt guilt due to failure," he whispered. Slowly, he turned his hands as he rested the back of his forearms on Clark's wide chest. As he stared at his palms, he continued, "This time, I have to face the reality that Jason's blood is truly on my hands."

"Bruce, don't be so hard-"

"It wasn't a tracking device."

"What?"

"The thing I implanted in Jason's brain. It wasn't a tracking device like I said it was. It didn't stop working. It wasn't disabled. No. In fact, it worked just as it should. It was a device that could mimic an aneurysm. I told him. I warned him. I said if he returned to Gotham, the device would kill him. He just didn't believe me."

"You activated it?"

"Not directly. After Jason returned the first time, I knew what I would have to do. I knew what kind of man he had become. Unfortunately, the risk he posed was not easily dispatched. He was truly the greatest threat this family ever faced simply because he knew us. Trained by me, I knew he could slip by standard law enforcement. As such, I created the device and also wireless triggers. Through various Wayne Enterprises subsidiaries, I had the wireless triggers hooked up at every bridge, airfield and port of entry leading into Gotham. I also had some placed at Gotham Prep, Gotham Police headquarters, Wayne Towers and on the manor grounds. I ran regular diagnostics. I maintained the system. I repaired it when necessary. So you see, although I never pushed a button or flicked a switch, I'm still to blame."

Pulling Bruce closer, Clark hugged him as tightly as he safely could. Burying his face in the nape of his neck, he waited until some of the shock and tension left Bruce's body before he pulled away enough to take hold of both of his hands. As he pressed tender kisses to hard knuckles, he repeatedly whispered the same two words.

"Thank you."

After the third run of his litany, Clark looked at Bruce while keeping his head bowed. Seeing the shock written on Bruce's face, he explained, "You always do what the rest of us can't. You take the steps no one else will. You shoulder all the responsibility but, just this once, don't let yourself carry all of the blame."

"What I did..."

"You protected our daughter. That's what you did. You kept her safe and, for that, I am infinitely grateful. Everyone talks about my powers and how God-like and awesome they are, but all it took was one young boy and a Kryptonite grenade to completely lock me out. I was useless three years ago, but you weren't. You never are. Because you do what has to be done."

"Don't pat me on the back. I don't want to be proud of this. I killed him. I killed my own son."

"No. Jason did this to himself. You may have set a stage, but, he had to set foot on it. You didn't lead him there. He did that all by himself."

Steering Bruce to the library, Clark gently guided his husband one step at a time. Grabbing his shoulders, he pushed Bruce down into his favorite armchair. For a minute, Bruce just sat there staring off into space until Clark returned with his favorite drink. Quietly, Clark knelt down beside Bruce as he watched him down the drink in one long swallow.

A moment later, he found Bruce's hand stretched out in a wordless plea. Quickly, he grabbed it. With an urgent squeeze, Clark returned the frantic grasp. With a weak tug, he waited until their eyes met before he made his pledge.

"Jason died of an aneurysm. That's all anyone ever needs to know."


	6. Abstinence

Abstinence

Touching down softly, she fought down a smile. With a bounce in her step, she smoothed out the fabric of her costume, running her fingers over the long sleeves of her blue and red costume. Tugging at the hem of her bouncy skirt with one hand, she tapped him gently on the right shoulder with the other.

"Shrimp?"

Looking up from his motorcycle, J.B. flashed a smile. Slowly, he stood up until he stood four inches taller than Marty. With a smirk, he bent his head down in order to meet her eye.

"Snob."

Unable to hold off a burst of laughter, Marty reached up and pulled him down into a sweet kiss. Stepping away, J.B. kept his arms spread. Backing away, he retreated to his motorcycle. Quickly, he snatched up a nearby cloth and wiped the engine grease from his hands. Turning back to her swiftly, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled Marty forward.

Sheltered within the safety of the bat-cave, they held each other tightly, kissing tenderly. Gently, he ran a hand down her face, brushing the back of his fingers across her cheek. Sighing into his caress, she kissed him again and again.

Together, they continued in this way until the bats above them interrupted. Breaking apart, they looked up just in time to see hundreds of bats take wing, flying in a black swatch out the top of the cave. Glancing back at each other, they leaned in for another kiss as the screeching lessened.

What they didn't know was this - They were no longer alone. The bats were unwitting cover. Their departure had coincided with the door to the bat-cave opening. The individual now staring at them entered as the bats fled, his stealthy arrival masked by their raucous exodus. This intruder watched them, anger building out of disbelief, as their lips lightly touched.

"What do you two think you're doing?"

Turning toward the anger-laced voice, Marty could only stare with wide open eyes at the sight of her Dad looming before her. As he stomped up to them, dread gripped at her heart as the man at her side tightened his hold on her.

For his part, J.B. stood in stunned silence. Sliding his right hand around Marty's waist, he pulled her in closer while his left hand glided up her back, wrapping around her shoulder in an effort to shield her from the rage flashing in the eyes before them.

Meeting icy-blue eyes, J.B. didn't flinch. Matching intense stare for intense stare, all he could think was that it was a miracle that they ever managed to keep this a secret this long.

It all started eight months before. The night of the 20th Annual Lois Lane Memorial Scholarship Fund Gala.

Ever since Superman used the third annual gala to mark his return to Earth, superheroes had quickly taken over the social event. The next year, all the founding members of the Justice League were in attendance though the event's hosts, Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne, were curiously absent.

After that, the floodgates opened. In the years that followed, a revolving door of heroes filled the guest list and it only served to make the evening more of a success. The tickets, being extremely limited, became the must have item for the ridiculously wealthy. The Gotham elite and the world's uber-rich paid five, sometimes ten, times more for them than the suggested donation.

Of course, who could blame them. Who wouldn't want to spend their evening in the company of heroes?

On the night of the 20th annual gala, Marty was escorted to the dance floor, for the first time, by a Kryptonian who was not her Father. His name was Van-Zee. He was her third cousin and the spitting image of her father. His presence did not cause a stir. These days, random Kryptonians emerged every so often. Unlike her father, Marty grew up knowing she was part of a small but ever-growing population. Kandorians. Stray wanderers. Cousins. They seemed to come and go, few staying for long.

Like so many Kryptonians upon reaching earth, Van-Zee had a certain arrogance to him. Strengthened by the Earth's yellow sun, he strutted like a peacock. He rarely acknowledged Humans and mostly regarded them with a distant tolerance. Upon reaching the center of the dance floor, he wrapped an arm around Marty's waist and squeezed too tightly. He pulled her up against him although the hands she placed on his chest tried to push him away.

Across the room, Bruce Wayne watched the unimpressive young buck manhandle his daughter. His eyes narrowed dangerously just as his grandson came into view. From the edge of the huddled, swaying mass, J.B. swiftly made his way to Marty's side. As Bruce watched him stand up to the large Kryptonian without a hint of fear, he couldn't stop the shiver of pride that ran through him.

_"That boy is going to make an excellent Batman, someday."_

Walking up behind Van-Zee, J.B. caught Marty's eye before he tapped twice on Van-Zee's shoulder.

Nothing.

Again he tapped, harder this time.

"Excuse me, I'd like to cut in."

Again, nothing. Van-Zee just kept on shuffling, dragging Marty along for the ride. He didn't notice the look she exchanged with J.B. He didn't register the slight nod they gave each other. All he knew was that one minute he was enjoying this odd Human custom and the next his dance partner was pushing him away. As he attempted to thwart her escape, a hand landed on his shoulder. By slow measure, he followed the hand back to its owner.

"Mister, I don't think the lady is interested."

"Be gone," replied Van-Zee, as he looked back at Marty. "This is a Kryptonian matter."

"No," argued J.B. as his grip tightened. "This is a family matter of which you are not a part. Now, I would let go of her and back away before this has to get ugly."

"Are you threatening me, Human?"

"Absolutely. But, I'll do better than that if you don't take your hands off her right now."

"Laughable. There is nothing you can do to me."

"That's where you're wrong. You see, I know where my Grandfather hides all the Kryptonite," countered J.B. Upon seeing Van-Zee's shocked expression, he continued, "You know what Kryptonite is. That's good. Know this. My family has several chunks of it, but I'll only need one small piece to take you out. Now, back off."

Taking a step back, Van-Zee lifted his hands in surrender.

Meeting his eyes with a warning and a stern expression, J.B. placed a hand flat against Marty's lower back. Quickly, he took a step back, letting go of Van-Zee at the same time. Without looking back, they made a hasty retreat to a nearby balcony.

Luckily, J.B. managed to close the balcony doors before Marty burst out laughing.

"Oh my God! That is the last time that I let one of my Dads set me up on a date. Did you see what he did? He's my cousin. That's just creepy."

Quiet, he followed behind her.

"He was hideous!" she shouted out to the night. Turning her back to the wall, she propped her elbows on the stone. As she flipped her hair over her shoulder, she looked at J.B. curiously. "J.B.? Is something wrong?"

At first, he shook his head. Then, he grew very still as he met her questioning gaze. After taking a deep breath, he stepped forward and asked, "Do you like wasting your time?"

"What's your problem? It's called dating. At best, it's a theoretical science."

"Is it all just a joke to you?"

"Look," she said as she crossed her arms. "I don't know what your problem is, but I didn't just leave one jerk to be saddled with another."

"Okay. That's fair. I'll back off once you answer one question."

"Whatever. What is it?"

"Why do you give so much of your time to men who don't deserve you?"

"What?"

"You heard me. Warren. Ted. Tony. Harry. Now, this Van-Zee guy. Do you ever get tired of all these men who aren't worthy of you?" He didn't wait for an answer. Now, that he started, he couldn't stop. "Not worthy of you. Not one of them. And you want to know why? Because not one of them really knew you."

"Sure, some of them knew you as Marty, the pretty daughter of a wealthy, socially connected gay couple. Ted knew you as Supergirl, Superman's exotic, alien daughter. Van-Zee was attracted to your Kryptonian half. All of them held a fragment, a piece of the puzzle, but not one of them really knew you."

"Not like I do."

"I know that the Human girl and the Kryptonian are not separate people. I've watched you burst through walls and tear apart steel girders just so you can get to a family trapped behind them. I've watched you cradle a baby against your chest, soothing it with a song, as you saved it from a collapsing bridge. I held your hand while you cried when Alfred died. I understand he was so much more than a butler. I know Filmed in Technicolor is your favorite band, but that The Girl from Ipanema will always be your favorite song even if it is a tune fit for an old lady. I know all of you, Marty. That's why I'm the only one worthy of you."

Stunned speechless, she gaped at him. Slowly, her arms uncrossed, hanging limply. She watched him with wide eyes as he drew closer. As he gripped her hands, her mouth snapped shut with a click. Closing in, he brought her hands up to his lips and placed a single chaste kiss on her knuckles.

"Marty, I love you. I have for a while."

As if on cue, the balcony doors opened.

"There you two are. Marty, your Dad is looking for you," said Barbara as she walked in. She noticed how Marty sprang away from J.B.. Her eyes went back and forth between them as J.B. took a step forward, bracing himself against the balcony wall. As Marty rushed past her, she asked, "J.B., is everything alright?"

In response, he shook his head once.

Concerned, she placed a hand on his shoulder. He jerked away as if he was burned. Pulling her hand back, she asked again if he was alright.

"I'm fine, Mom. Really. Everything's okay."

Weakly, he waved his hands once. With a single forceful nod, he returned to the party without saying another word.

Now, standing here in front of his Grandfather, J.B. realized that experience should have hammered home the necessity for a secure perimeter.

"How long has this been going on?"

Distantly, he heard Marty beg to explain. His attention remained on the man standing before him. The silver in his hair did nothing to hide the threat he still represented. He noticed the twitch in his eye and the throbbing blood vessel at his temple. Focusing on the rage-filled way Grandpa Bruce was chewing at his own bottom lip, J.B. shushed at the woman in his arms.

"Marty, I've got this," insisted J.B. as he met his Grandfather's eyes. Taking a deep breath, he made sure his voice wouldn't crack before he answered, "We started going out five months ago."

Silently, Marty stood beside J.B. and listened as he answered her Dad's questions. Thinking back, she remembered all the stutters and stops. The night in his bedroom when he held her after she learned about bondmates. The night of the gala where he bravely confessed his love. The months they spent tiptoeing around each other, afraid to look each other in the eyes.

Then, within days of each other, two things happened. First, Rex Stewart in his full Warhawk armor stopped her after a Young Justice mission and inquired as to why she had rebuffed his best friend. She pled her case of family and desire for normalcy. Her excuses sounded empty and shallow to her own ears and, by the look on his face, to Rex's, as well. Looking her straight in the eye, he said, "I get wanting to be normal, wanting to be like everyone else. I do but, I'm only half Human. Just like you. We don't get normal handed to us like other people do. We have to make our own sort of normal. More than that, we have to be willing to fight for it."

Then, a couple days later came the awful news - Jonathan Kent was dead. He lived to be eighty-two years old and died quietly in his sleep. Martha woke up that morning to an empty bed and her son sitting in a chair by her side. He calmly informed her that he had dressed and moved the body to the sofa downstairs before calling the Coroner's Office.

Two days later, the Kent patriarch was buried. Afterwards, family and friends retreated to the Kent farm. Shortly after returning to the house, Martha disappeared. Concerned, Marty went looking for her. Upstairs, she found her sitting on her bed. Silent tears ran down her face as she ran her fingertips over pictures from a long ago wedding.

Sitting down beside her grandmother, Marty looked at the photographs. She laughed airily at the outdated outfits and hairstyles, but she couldn't mistake the love in their eyes or the joy on their faces. Every guest sported big smiles - A sea of happiness filling in the empty spaces of a perfect day.

"Everyone looks so happy," observed Marty.

"Oh yes," sighed Martha as she turned the page. Placing her hand on an eight by ten of her and Jonathan posing under the wedding arbor, she let out a shaky breath before she continued, "Nothing makes people smile like a new baby or a new bride."

Bringing her fingers to her lips, she softly kissed them before pressing those same fingers to Jonathan's face. Another tear fell as Marty wrapped an arm around her back. As her shoulders shook, she whispered, "We had sixty-one years of marriage, but that wasn't all. He was always the boy down the road. We played as children and held hands on the way to school as teenagers. We slid into love so effortlessly. It seemed so meant to be."

"On the day of the wedding, the future looked so bright. We couldn't have foreseen so many hard times awaited us. We almost lost the farm to foreclosure after a couple years of bad crops. The whole place flooded more than once. Then, we suffered through two miscarriages. It seemed like our fairytale was shattered, but still we clung to each other. In the end, that's what I'm proudest of. We loved each other with everything we had. We never gave up and never wasted any time. Looking back now, I can honestly say I never wasted one minute that I had with him. Yes, at least, I have that to hold onto."

Blinking back tears, Marty nodded. Held silent by trembling lips, her thoughts drifted to J.B. and she let out a shuddering breath. Glancing at her Grandma's sad eyes, she asked, "Do you need anything, Grandma?"

"No, dear," she replied, softly. "But, I would like to be left alone. Could you tell all those people downstairs?"

"Sure, Grandma."

With one last hug, she stood up and left the room. One hand pressed flat against the wall, she descended the stairs on shaky legs. Reaching the landing, she scanned the living room and found her Dad. Walking over to where he held court with several of Smallville's residents, she whispered her Grandma's request in his ear. He met her eye and answered with a curt nod of his head.

Stepping away, she walked outside. There, she found her Pa talking to some elderly men who owned neighboring farms. Again, she whispered her message in his ear and received a nod in return. Then, she looked over at the barn. There stood J.B. Leaning against the long side, he kicked repeatedly at the dirt. Approaching him, she watched as his eyes followed her feet up to her legs and upward until they met her eyes.

"Can we go somewhere?" she asked.

"Sure."

Together, they headed to the back forty just as they had during every visit to the farm since they were seven years old. They walked quietly, but with an easy silence. They reached the farthest fence and stopped. Looking at the building clouds, J.B. placed his hand on a fence post and turned to Marty. The first thing he noticed were the tears threatening to fall. Quickly, he moved to reach her, but she beat him to the punch.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him close. Shaking her head, she kept whispering against his shoulder, "Forgive me. Please forgive me."

Pulling far enough away to look into his eyes, she said, "I've wasted so much time. So much time when I could have just been loving you."

Suddenly, movement to her left shook her free of her reverie. Disbelieving, she watched her Dad grab J.B. by the shirt and push him up against the nearest wall.

"How far has this gone?"

She watched as J.B. flashed a defiant face, but didn't make a move against the man in front of him. The only answer he offered was a request for clarification. In response, her Dad slammed his fists harder and growled, "Don't act naive with me, boy."

"Dad, stop this!" she yelled. As she reached for him, her Dad flashed a warning at her and she paused. After all, this was her Father - The awesome Bruce Wayne. The original Batman. The man knew how to instill fear with a look, but he didn't account for one thing - She'd seen it all before. Reaching for his shoulder, she physically separated them. "Dad! I don't have a bondmate, yet. Okay?"

"Good. This can end now."

"Grandpa Bruce..."

"No!," shouted Bruce as he glared at J.B. and shook his fist at him. "Don't you dare call me that. Not after what you've been doing with my own daughter."

"Dad, please. Listen to me. Let me explain."

"I can't, Marty. I can't be here. I can't look at you two, right now."

With that, he wrestled free of her grip and marched back inside the Manor. Quickly, Bruce wound through the halls until he reached the library. He glanced at Clark as he picked up the house phone and called Dick and Barbara and asked them to join them in the library. Hanging up the phone, he met curious eyes. Crossing the room, he sat in his favorite chair across from Clark, but remained silent.

Several minutes later, Dick arrived.

"So, Bruce? Where's the fire?"

"Where's your wife?"

"Did you call her?"

"Yes."

"Then I guess she's on her way," answered Dick as he walked over to a nearby chair . Sitting down, he looked at Clark for a clue, but all he received was a slow wave of a hand. "Bruce, what is this all about?"

"I'll wait until Barbara gets here."

A couple minutes later, Barbara walked in holding her smart tablet. Punching at the screen, she cursed quietly as she quietly took her usual seat across from her husband. Sitting down, she continued to type furiously until she realized that everyone was staring at her. Glancing up, she realized she was being watched. With a mumbled apology, she tucked the tablet between her thigh and the seat cushion. Folding her hands on her lap, she followed her husband's lead and turned her attention to Bruce.

"It has come to my attention that we have a severe problem here at the manor."

"Severe problem?" asked Clark.

"Is it a problem concerning the structure itself?" asked Dick.

Quietly, Barbara held her questions.

"No, the problem is closer to home."

"Did you catch another maid stealing from the storage closet again?" asked Dick

"Are you having trouble filling the vacant gardener position?"

Again, Barbara held her tongue.

"No. Now, stop interrupting me." growled Bruce as he sat forward, digging his fingers into the arms of his chair. "Just now, I walked in on J.B. and Marty. They were in an embrace and admitted to me that they have been in a relationship for the past five months."

"What?" shouted Clark.

"J.B. and Marty? Really, Bruce?"

Curling her right hand into a fist, Barbara punched at her chair arm as Bruce answered.

"Yes, really. I saw it with my own eyes and they didn't deny it. Now, we need to decide what we will do about this?"

"They need to be separated immediately. Yes, as soon as possible. He's set to start at Gotham University in the fall, but now, perhaps we need to send him somewhere else. It would be bad for them to see each other on campus."

"That's a good idea, Dick," said Clark. "Also, let's change their superhero affiliations. Neither one of them is ready for membership in the Justice League, but they don't have to both be in Young Justice as they are now. Perhaps one of them could join Teen Titans."

Nodding, Dick agreed, "Yes. Yes, that could work. We could see about enrolling J.B. in Stanford or Cal Berkeley."

"These are all good steps," said Bruce as he rested his chin on his fist. Taking a deep breath, he added, "We'll need to keep them under constant surveillance from now until September. It's too late to get Marty into the dorms, but we could rent her an apartment near campus."

"My God, how did it come to this?" sighed Clark.

"Are we to blame?" asked Dick.

"Where did we go wrong?" echoed Bruce.

"Bruce, we raised our daughter in such an unconventional way. She grew up in this hero business of ours. She was fighting supervillians when she was thirteen. We never gave her anything that resembled a normal life."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Clark. It's not the life that did this. I was born in a circus. Never in one place for more than a few weeks. After Bruce adopted me, I was on the streets fighting crime six months later. I wasn't even thirteen yet. No, I think maybe it was us. We pushed them together so much when they were children. Maybe we were wrong to do that."

"He called me Grandpa Bruce just now. For the first time, I looked at him and felt something other than pride."

"I know what you mean. My son and my sister. There's something just so wrong about all that."

Resting his elbows on his knees, Clark leaned forward and let his hands dangle down. Looking to his right, he saw Barbara sitting quietly in her chair. Her feet tucked under her, she leaned to the right against the chair cushions. He followed her line of vision out the door before returning to meet her gaze.

"Barbara, do you have anything to say?"

"Yes, Clark. I do," she answered. Nodding in the direction of the door, she noted, "They've been standing just outside the doors for the past five minutes."

"What?" shouted Bruce as he jumped to his feet.

Hand in hand, Marty and J.B. opened the door and walked into the room.

"Bruce, sit down," she insisted. "What are you going to do, Bruce? Hit him? Hit her? Whip out some Kryptonite? Well, you might as well. I don't think such actions could hurt them more than your words. That goes for all of you."

"Yes, all of you," she repeated, coolly as she watched them move to contradict her. "Is it a shock? Yes. Is it a surprise? A little, I guess. I've noticed what apparently no one else has for the past several months. Now, is it unwelcome? Not really. Not for me, anyway."

"All these years, our two families have grown and been bound by so many things - Tragedy, Adoption, Struggle, Marriage, Camaraderie and Love. The only link not found in the chain is blood. Perhaps, through them, that last link can finally be added."

"Let me remind you that for all your talk of daughters and grandsons, they are not blood related. J.B. is not your biological grandson, Bruce. Marty may legally be your sister, Dick, but the two of you do not share a biological parent."

"I know family is so much more than just blood. That's why this is so hard to bear, but what choice do we have. They are not children. They are adults. Just look at them. They're not pitching a fit. They're not screaming at the walls. They're not rampaging through Gotham City. They're just standing here, hoping we'll accept them."

"Undoubtedly, some things have to change. How we relate to each other will need to change so that we can all be comfortable with this arrangement. That will take time, but it will be time well spent."

"Marty. J.B., come here."

"Mom?"

"Aunt Barbara?"

"See, that's one of those things that need to change. Marty, my dear, I love you like a daughter, but I can't hand my only child over to someone who calls me Aunt Barbara. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Au- I mean... Yes, Barbara. I mean... Yes, Mrs. Grayson."

"Barbara will be fine, dear."

"J.B.?" Reaching out a hand, she beckoned her son to come closer. Letting go of Marty, he walked over to his mother and tightly held her hand. "I know you've heard this many times before, but bear with me. The day you were born, I fell into a coma. I stayed in that coma for three days. I woke up in the hospital to find out you were born two months early and that you would be my only one. Joker's bullet did its job. The nurses brought you to me and you wouldn't stop crying. I felt so helpless and then Bruce and Clark arrived with a six month old Marty in tow. Bruce took you out of my arms and brought you over to Marty. She reached out and patted your head. Just like that. You stopped crying. Seeing you two together made me smile for the first time since I woke up. Right then, I started hoping that the two of you would be together one day. I, for one, am glad that day is finally here."

Leaning down, J.B. grabbed his mother into a hug. Standing up, she wrapped her arms around her son. After several seconds, she pulled away. Looking about the room, she spurred them into action with insistent glances.

First, Clark stood up. Crossing over to Marty, he met her hope-filled gaze. They faced each other without words for a good minute before he opened his arms. She wrapped her arms around him in a tight manner that only he could bear. Burying her face in his chest, she whispered so only he could hear, "Papa, I think he might be the one."

In response, he held her even tighter.

Still seated in their chairs, Bruce and Dick looked at each other. Glancing at their respective spouses, they came to the same conclusion. Standing up, Bruce walked over to the liquor cabinet and pulled out six tumblers. He filled four with scotch and two of them with ginger ale. Turning to his left, he handed the three of the scotches to Dick. With a nod, Dick served the drinks to Clark and Barbara.

Picking up the three remaining drinks, Bruce handed the ginger ales to J.B. and Marty. Taking a moment to compose himself, Bruce raised his glass and said, "To family."

_"To family."_


	7. Generosity

Generosity

Mummers abounded, in the sea of special guests, as the wedding planner's staff rushed to fill every request. The chapel quickly filled. Everyone smiled and chatted, eager for the nuptials so many had waited so long to see. Glancing at the double doors, at the back of the chapel, speculation spread as to the start of the ceremony.

Then, in the distance, a harp began to play.

In response, the congregation turned to face the alter. The room buzzed with excitement as Dick Grayson entered the room. Stopping at the alter, he picked up a box of matchsticks and proceeded to light two candles. Leaving them to burn steadily, he walked over to his seat in the front row and sat down.

Next, James Bruce Grayson walked in, followed by his best man, Rex Stewart. Now, a hush filled the room. Staring at the nervous young man standing before them, they all waited for the next actor to enter the stage.

At the back of the chapel, behind the high double doors, stood Bruce and Clark. Facing the doors, they glanced at each other, savoring memories of their own wedding. They heard the muffled voices from the chapel and started to fidget. Bruce looked at his watch. Repeatedly. Clark tugged at his collar and adjusted his tie. Shifting from foot to foot, Bruce couldn't quite suppress a hitch as he placed weight on his left knee.

"How's your knee doing?" asked Clark as he glanced over at Bruce.

"Hmm..."

"I could get you some aspirin."

"It'll do what it needs to do."

"Okay," replied Clark as he rocked back on his heels and clapped his hands once. Rubbing his hands together, he said, "Y'know, it might be time to start looking into a cane."

" I don't need a cane. Old men need canes."

"Don't be like that. It doesn't have to be some crotchety old wooden stick. It could be cool looking. I could be made of black marble and topped with a brushed nickel grip."

"You've done some shopping already, I see."

"Just to get a feel for what's out there."

"Of course," Bruce added, with just a hint of sarcasm. Checking his watch again, he asked, "Can we table this conversation until after the wedding?"

"Just say you'll think about it."

"Fine. I'm sure a cane is in my future. I might as well stop fighting it. You'll only manage to convince me to get one just like you persuaded me to set the cape aside all those years ago. Once you get an idea in your head, it's impossible to get away from it; no matter how hard I try. Just like that country duck theme you convinced me to use during the last kitchen remodel."

"Are you still going on about that? I mean really, Bruce. It was three years ago. Besides, it's a white goose wearing a blue bonnet. What could be better than that?"

For a moment, Bruce glared at him, but says nothing. With a smile, he shakes his head slowly as he sighs, "I can't believe this day is finally here."

"Yeah, I'm just glad the weather held up. It was starting to look like rain earlier."

"I could care less if it rained or not. I'm just happy we finally managed to have a wedding in this family without one of the participants being pregnant."

"Are you trying to say you only married me because you knocked me up?"

Turning to face his husband, Bruce met Clark's eyes and replied, "I'm sorry, Clark, but not even twenty-five years of marriage can make that statement sound right."

In lieu of a quick response, Clark laughed lightly and shook his head. Opening his mouth, he was about to shoot back a well thought out retort when a voice called out to them.

"Pa? Dad?"

Together, they turned toward the voice. Expecting a little girl, they found a vision of loveliness, a woman clad all in white. Her veil was still thrown back, forming a silky haze framing her heart shaped face. Her icy-blue eyes glistened as she clutched her bouquet tightly.

Beside her, Barbara busied herself with last minute details. She smoothed out silk sleeves. She picked at a minuscule speck of fluff on the bodice. She ghosted a hand over the French bun holding back Marty's unruly curls. Hearing the harpist start a new song, she whispered, "That's my cue! I've got to go sit down now, honey. Do you need anything before I go?"

Looking at her fathers, Marty shook her head.

"No, Barbara. I think we've got it covered."

With that said, Bruce and Clark stepped away from the doors. Two ushers stepped forward and opened the doors just enough to let Barbara start her measured walk down the aisle.

Back inside the foyer, Bruce rushed to his daughter's side. Taking hold of the bouquet in her hands, he managed to pull the twisted stems from her grasp before she could rip the arrangement apart. Quickly, Clark took her by both hands. Gripping his hands with all her strength, she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. A shrill squeal escaped her as her movements accelerated. Finally, she sighed loudly as she pulled her hands away and rested her heels on the floor.

"Thank you. Oh, thank you. I needed that so badly."

Reaching for her bouquet, she frowned at the twisted stems. Before her lips could form a pout, Bruce took her hand and wrapped it around the damage. Letting go of the flowers, he took her other hand and placed it over the first. Looking her in the eyes, he assured, "No one will even notice."

Taking in a shaky breath, a smile spread her trembling lips. Again, her eyes shimmered. Blinking fast, she tried in vain to protect her two hour make-up job. Drawing in deep breaths, she looked helplessly from one man to the other.

Swooping in to save the day, Clark cupped her elbow and said, "Hey, hey, what are all these tears? Having second thoughts? Cold feet?"

"You know, it's still not too late to call this whole thing off," Bruce added.

Shaking her head, her smile widened. Placing her gloved hand on her Pa's cheek, she answered in a steady voice, "No. I'm doing this."

"He's the one, Papa," she assured as she curled her hand around her Pa's arm. Taking a step forward, she carefully negotiated a series of turns with her bouquet as she wrapped her other arm around her Dad's arm. As his hand patted her on the arm, she turned to face her Dad. Her voice, not much more than a sigh, smoothly declared, "I love him, Daddy, and I know he's worthy of me."

With a final nod, Bruce and Clark reached back and brought her veil forward. Facing the ushers, all three of them nodded in unison and waited for the doors to open.

-{()}-

As is custom, a reception followed the ceremony. It was a six hour long affair. By the end, the newlyweds could barely stand. So exhausted from the rush of events, they swayed as they waited for the limousine to pull up to the curb. Waving weakly at their friends and family, they entered the vehicle and let themselves be swept away.

At curbside, Bruce and Clark watched their baby girl leave. They stayed long after the others had gone back inside. Long after the vehicle disappeared from sight, they finally turned around and headed back.

Again, Bruce couldn't suppress a slight hitch in his step.

"We can go shopping for that cane in the morning."

With a small chuckle, Bruce shook his head. Reaching over, he took Clark's hand. Gripping it firmly, he took a deep breath.

"I think the time has come for us to have a little talk. We need to decide who will stand beside you when our grandchildren get married."

"I would think you'd already be filling that position."

"Clark..." he growled as he pulled his husband to a stop. Determination filled his face as Clark stepped up to him. That determination quickly faded as a sweet kiss landed on his lips.

"I have no doubt, Bruce," whispered Clark, against puckered lips. "Your money and your stubborn streak will keep you here for a long time to come."

"I'm not a young man anymore, Clark. I abused this body for years. It's going to catch up with me sooner or later. You need to be ready."

"But, not tonight," Clark countered. "Not on the day of our daughter's wedding."

Nodding, Bruce nodded. Tugging on Clark's hand, he guided his husband back inside. Lifting their clasped hands, he kissed at where they met. Looking up at Clark's youthful face, he sighed, "Okay, not tonight."

_"But soon..."_


End file.
